


I Promise

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone expects Courfeyrac and Combeferre to have serious, elegant vows at the wedding. Everyone is wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I come up with a headcanon and run with it. Cute wedding fluff with bonus Combeferre/Courfeyrac/Enjolras friendship.

Courfeyrac is practically shaking with excitement as they stand in front of the officiant. He’s only half paying attention to her words which, y’know, he feels a bit guilty about as they’re probably really lovely. But he thinks it’s understandable when he’s approximately fifteen minutes off from being married to the most wonderful man he’s ever met and the absolute love of his life. He’s already cried a little. Maybe more than a little. (Combeferre, of course, is looking utterly adorable and charming and like he’s paying his full attention—which Courfeyrac later learns he _wasn’t_ , but hey.)

Looking at Combeferre turns out to be a bad idea. Courfeyrac is so far consumed by Combeferre and the sweet little shy smiles he keeps giving that he nearly misses his cue to start his vows. Would have, if it wasn’t for wonderful, sweet Marius nudging him ever so gently.

“Combeferre,” It’s impossible to _not_ grin, but at least the look is shared on Combeferre’s face. “I vow to pack love notes written in Elvish in your lunch when I have the time—especially ones that are inappropriate and probably about your butt.” There’s a titer of laughter, but mostly confusion at the lack of seriousness. Courfeyrac doesn’t care—not even about the disapproving look on the officiant’s face. This is for him and Combeferre, and Combeferre’s smiling beautifully. “I promise to let you get another bookcase whenever you want and not complain as our house is slowly consumed by the classics and cheap romances alike, so long as you keep reading to me.

“I swear to follow you around at museums for hours, despite being exhausted and bored. I’ll even pretend I know what’s going on when you talk excitedly about something. I will _never_ spoil a tv show for you, even if I’m really, really tempted. I promise to always check the closet for ghosts each night because, while you don’t believe in them, you don’t _not_ believe in them and it’s better safe than sorry.”

He gives the audience a moment to laugh at that one.

“I won’t drink the last of your favorite tea and leave an empty box.” He pauses. “Okay, I _will_ but then I’ll feel bad about it.” Combeferre’s laughing quietly and shaking his head which only makes Courfeyrac grin more as he finishes up.

“But most of all, I vow to always be there by your side to do all of this and more—for as long as you’ll have me.”

Courfeyrac’s fairly sure there are tears in Combeferre’s eyes, and knows for a fact that they’re both grinning like fools. Combeferre takes his hand, squeezing it, and it’s the only thing that keeps them from kissing now and spoiling the whole _you may now kiss_ deal.

“Courfeyrac.” The audience sobers, no doubt expecting something of a different tone—Courfeyrac is looking forward to them being confused anew. For some reason, people don’t realize how silly Combeferre can be.

“I vow to not make fun of how many unique hair products you use in a given day to make your hair look like you’ve just woken up.” It’s a good start that has their friends sharing looks of agreement. Courfeyrac’s holding back a laugh already.

“I promise to knit you new scarves in colors to represent your favorite characters of whatever popular show you get hooked on; to play Just Dance with you, even though I look ridiculous; to never say anything bad about Beyoncé. Or be jealous that you would probably leave me for her, because that is actually understandable.”

Courfeyrac can’t contain his laughter at that one and has to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle his giggling. Combeferre looks amused and pleased in one.

“I swear to let you approve my outfit choice before I leave for work each morning; to watch bad movies with you when you’re sad or restless; to always sing along to Raoul’s part in 'All I Ask of You' _—_ because I might not understand _why_ you think we’re ‘totally Christine and Raoul’ but I’ll accept it. And, for the record, should the moment ever arise, I will run into the sea to fetch your little red scarf without hesitation.”

Courfeyrac has basically tuned out the responses of the audience by now, focused entirely on how wonderful Combeferre is and how hard it is not to kiss him.

“ Courfeyrac,” Combeferre smiles soft and sweet. “I vow with all my heart to do everything I can to make you happy.”

Courfeyrac’s nearly swooning. The officiant starts to take back over and it takes a second for Courfeyrac to realize what’s happening. “Wait,” he interrupts. “One more thing.”

Combeferre grins at him, eyes filled with mischief. They both turn to the right, where Enjolras is standing as Combeferre’s best man. He looks predictably confused.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac starts. “We know this hasn’t always been easy for you.”

“That it’s changed the way our friendship functions,” Combeferre chimes in.

“But our friendship—this crazy, amazing bond between the three of us—is incredibly important to us both. So we want to take a moment to make some vows to _you_.”

“It seems only fair,” Combeferre agrees.

By this point, Enjolras is starting to look mildly uncomfortable. Courfeyrac grins.

There’s a slight moment of pause, letting their guests’ murmurs settle, before Combeferre begins. “Enjolras, we vow to make time for you.”

“Whether that time is for planning revolutions in the education system or venting about how frustratingly cute Grantaire’s hair is,” Courfeyrac supplies, relishing in the delightful pink color that rises to Enjolras’ cheeks.

“We promise to always be there for you.”

“Even if it’s 3 am when you need to vent about how frustratingly cute Grantaire’s hair is,” Courfeyrac adds cheekily.

Enjolras is scowling just a little, the tips of his ears going the same lovely shade of pink. He’s shifting awkwardly, but Courfeyrac detects a sense of gratitude underneath.

He clears his throat to take the next point. “We swear we’ll cut back on the PDA.”

“Or try to,” Combeferre corrects. “We’ll do our best.”

Now Enjolras looks a little relieved. Courfeyrac nearly laughs.

“And, most importantly,” he starts. “Through good and bad—“

“—for better or worse—“

“—we vow to always be friends,” Courfeyrac smiles softly. Genuinely.

“No matter how bossy and stubborn you might get, or how much we want to be alone sometimes, we will never forget how essential you are to both of us,” Combeferre adds.

“We will never forget how much we love you.”

Enjolras definitely has tears in his eyes—Courfeyrac knows they all do, actually—and he even seems to have forgotten that they’re all being stared at by the hundred or so guests.

It’s a touching moment and Courfeyrac gives it a beat before he decides it’s too serious. Then he adds, “We also promise not to do it in your bed anymore.”

“ _What_?” Enjolras lets out, his eyes going wide.

Courfeyrac uses the cover of the audience’s laughter to ignore the ‘I’ve got serious questions and complaints’ look forming on Enjolras’ face and turns to the disapproving officiant instead. “We’re ready to be married now.”

He looks to Combeferre again, giddy and gleeful.

He really is ready.


End file.
